


Naught but a monster of nightmare

by Rinusagitora



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 11:19:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12275361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinusagitora/pseuds/Rinusagitora
Summary: She can never tell between her dreams and lucidity, all she can do is pray it's not real.For Goretober day 5: torn apart.





	Naught but a monster of nightmare

That day was unreal from the moment she woke. It felt like her head was stuffed full of cotton and it spilled through her ears. Shinji wished her good morning as she barely caught it, his voice was so garbled by her funk.

Come to think of it, she frowned, she couldn’t even remember her morning routine. She wasn’t so absent-minded that her morning was a blur, even while half-asleep.

“Momo, did you hear me?”

She cursed as she dropped her mug. Coffee splashed her lap-- still somehow warm enough to scald her despite it being more than an hour into her shift-- and her brother cursed with her as he skid around her desk with a rag.

“I’m so sorry, Momo. I’ll fetch you a new pair of hakama in a moment,” Toushirou said as he sopped up her spilled beverage.

Her head tilted as she watched her brother. “When did you get here?” she asked softly.

“Forty-five minutes ago,” Toushirou reminded her with a frown. “I brought you muffins, remember?”

Her brows knit and she shook her head. “I don’t.” She sighed and massaged her sinuses. “Today has been bizarre, ‘Shirou-chan. I barely remember waking up and Hirako-taichou telling me good morning, but nothing else.”

Toushirou frowned. “No offense, but you look like you’ve been put through the wringer. Let’s get you home.”

She scowled. Why hadn’t he scolded her when she called him ‘Shirou-chan? He hated that nickname something fierce.

Toushirou pulled her to her feet by her elbow and guided her out of her office. For a moment, she hated her reliance on her brother, but his cheek laid on her shoulder and it was instantly soothing. It was so good to be near him after so long spent distant. He was probably just too worried to scold her. That bratty, arrogant boy was a character of forty years ago. People changed over time-- he probably learned how to prioritize, she reasoned.

Gobantai was busy like every other Monday morning. It seemed she was a world apart though, surrounded by a stuffy, soundless bubble, the bustle of the day a fuzzy backdrop that part around her.

She must be in another dream, she thought. They could be as convincing as they were surreal. Nausea almost instantly befell her the moment she realized. Her dreams never played out mercifully and she really wasn’t in the mood to relive whatever hell she was about to put herself through.

The hallways seemed to span forever as if to taunt her with her impending misery, a march to her violent end once again. It felt like whiplash when she found herself on the engawa that lead to her barracks.

“Rest today, Momo,” Toushirou said as her barracks came into sight. “I’ll inform Hirako of your absence and cover your paperwork. Just take care, okay?”

She nodded solemnly. “Thank you, ‘Shirou---”

Toushirou snort then. Blood dribbled from his nostrils and his lips in streams, and then his head slid off his neck.

Her hair stood on end with a frigid wave and she trembled. The rest of her brother toppled forward next to where his head rolled-- cross-eyed and mouth agape as blood pooled around him. Even as her stomach churned and her grief and horror spilled from her saucer-sized eyes in rivers, she couldn’t scream. Her throat was swollen shut, like it knew better than to scream in his presence. He was even crueler in her dreams.

She slowly turned. Her neck creaked as a cold sweat dripped off her chin. He stood paces away, wrapped in those restraints like his imprisonment was a fucking joke. Even months into his incarceration, without hygiene and little sustenance, he looked so put together. His hair was shaggier but his teeth were still pearly and his cheeks still colored and full. He smiled like he always did-- a cool, collected grin. His eyes never matched his smiles though, were colder and emptier than ever before.

Before her was no more a villain and mastermind, he was a monster hungry for bloodshed.

“Hello Momo,” he said.

Her knees gave. She landed on her bottom and scrambled backwards on her hands and feet and slid through her brother’s blood in her haste to escape Aizen’s approach.

“Sweet Momo, didn’t you miss me?” he cooed. The engawa creaked under his footfalls. He hadn’t even bothered to step over the pools of blood and tracked it behind him.

What a wonderful metaphor, she thought. Aizen left carnage unmatched in his wake.

She could only whimper as she backed against the far wall. Aizen knelt and took her chin in his hand. “Take it off, Momo,” he told her.

She blubbered. It didn’t feel like it was her hands that pulled the knot of her sash and shed her clothes, like a string was pulled by disembodied claw and her clothes sloughed off her like rotting flesh. She knew it was pointless to fight. He was stronger than her in every nameable way. Tobiume would disintegrate if she dare draw her sword, he would bash her skull into the floorboards until her brain matted her hair. She was a ragdoll, ever his plaything, it was best to just get whatever the hell he wanted over with.

“My god, that scar is uglier than I thought it would be. It’s no wonder no one wants you anymore, Momo,” Aizen said. She merely sobbed. He would plunge every knife he could into her. “Lay down. We’re going to have some fun.”

She obeyed. He would ruin her and taunt her and then she’d wake up in bed, the sooner she complied the sooner her nightmare would end.

Aizen held her hip and knee in his hands. She stared at his chest, unable to face that perverse gaze of his.

Her hip popped and she shrieked as he pulled and pulled. From her lungs to her toes seared. Sound, even her shrill screams, was lost to her as a fissure opened where her thigh met her hip, and blood gushed from the growing tear. It washed over her little stomach in rich, vivid waves. 

“My,” Aizen said as her hip joint slipped out of her stringy stump, “I forgot how much blood there was. We oughtn’t let the fun end so soon.”

His hand glowed with kidou, she felt the heat by her stump. She pleaded-- a garble of no and whimpers. His magic touched her stump and she wailed. The smell of burnt fat filled the air with the metallic smell of blood and made her sinuses buzz and a feeling of agony and terror like a high-pitched wave wracked her from head to toe.

“Shinji!” she screeched, “oh my god, help me!”

Aizen burst into laughter. “Are you fucking him now, Momo? You’ve always had a thing for men in power. I’ve always wondered what it does for you,” he said.

“Shinji! He’s back! Oh my god, wake up!”

“He’s not comiiing, Momooooo,” Aizen sang. “I lopped off his head like I did your brother before I came for you. I beheaded all your friends.”

She sobbed as he held her other leg. Her hip popped again as he dislocated her leg, and she was washed again in her blood as he pulled. She couldn’t tell between the tearing and the cauterizing because it was all searing hurt. Even the air below her stumps still agonized like he still ripped her legs from her.

Aizen’s digits wrapped around her thin wrists and he pressed her into the floor with a foot on her breastbone. It was a cleaner, quicker tear, her arms fragile like bird wings against his power. It dumbly pulsated as he cauterized her stumps. She was breathless, she was exhausted, faint, and alert all at the same time, her gut pressed into her chest and her every nerve was ablaze, and her throat was sore and raw from her blaring screams.

“You’re so pretty when you’re like this,” Aizen said as he brushed her wet bangs aside. The world was wobblier, like a painting or hallucination, the edge of her vision was black. He was the only thing in focus. Aizen had always been the center of her world. “I remember you sliding off Kyoka Suigetsu and you had this look of absolute despair. You’ve always looked cute dying.”

“This is all that’s left,” he continued as he clasped her neck. A new wave of horror came over her as he pushed her her head towards the wall. She flailed, a futile effort as just a limbless trunk. Her neck cracked and her head pound as her blood vessels tore, and she gagged as blood filled her throat. She thought, as blackness consumed her, it was only a dream.


End file.
